The art market or the emperor's new clothes…
I confess, above all to anticipate the objections of enlightened connoisseurs of this scene, when it comes to contemporary art, I am an ignorant, a parvenu, an underdog.
Whenever I attend art openings, always with a fresh glass of sparkling wine in hand and already half-dazed by its effects, I have this feeling. "I should free myself," a good acquaintance advised me, "let yourself go!" However, she cunningly kept silent about what I should let myself go into.
I will make another attempt to get closer to the world of blank canvases, splashes and running colors, as well as the stage shows with blood and carnage.
I attend an art auction; no, I also want to be enlightened.
Up for auction is a white piece of canvas and, oh wonder, with a red, centered dot.
A slight shiver runs over me, although the room temperature is quite appropriate. "Have they perhaps set up the piece the wrong way around?" I think to myself.
Nonsense, with a square with a dot in the middle you almost have no choice.
The starting bid: "150,000 euros," I feel sick, but it continues "160,000, 170,000…," at 230,000 some calm returns. "Who offers more?" calls the man in the gray suit?
Who has bid here? I ask myself; only one or two people have touched their nose or raised their pen.
I get nervous; don't make any mistakes and as a precaution I sit on my hands and nod slightly blushing in agreement.
Immediately it sounds "240,000..," I feel dizzy; could he possibly…? Hopeless; just as I am about to protest it continues and relievedly lean back.
At 250,000 euros the hammer falls and a lucky blond man next to me beams from ear to ear glad that he can part with his gold nugget.
What was that? I think of the emperor and his new clothes and yet all I see is a naked man basking in the certainty of wearing something particularly beautiful.
